


i won't be vacant anymore

by henwens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henwens/pseuds/henwens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after the war, draco searches for the light... and he finds it (or rather, it finds him) in a most unusual way</p>
            </blockquote>





	i won't be vacant anymore

**Author's Note:**

> companion fic to my after the war series, especially this set: {http://henwens.tumblr.com/post/91098948577}
> 
> title from the song 'this is the last time' by the national

After the war, Draco needed to find the light. And of course, he found that light in Loony Luna, her countenance as bright as the orb in the sky she was named after.

Or rather, the light found him—he still doesn’t know how. The months—the year?—following the Battle of Hogwarts was a blur, a depressing hole in his heart, in his memories.

He didn’t even remember at what point his friends had abandoned him. Probably not long after his family had. The end result was that he was completely alone in a world that thought he deserved it.

So he sought out some light because he had always been plagued by darkness, and he started writing in columns to The Quibbler. The first time he handed the envelope to his owl to deliver to the tabloid’s offices—just an anonymous short story about a fallen pureblood’s views on the new Magical Creature Inclusion Act, one Granger herself had penned—he had actually felt his heartbeat in his head. It was the first time since the war that he had ever felt such a strong emotion. And when he had received a letter congratulating him on being published, a smile had come to his face before he had even registered it.

And then Luna had showed up at his door.

“There was a typo in this,” she said, handing him a copy of his latest column, sent in yesterday. It was a short piece—fictional—about a young pureblood’s encounter with two very different werewolves. Not at all based off of personal experience

“What?” He said, because he had seen Luna exactly once since the end of the war, accompanying Harry out of the trials held by the Ministry, after he had stood in front of the Wizengamot and told them all how Draco had done his own part in saving the Chosen One’s life.

Draco only vaguely remembered this, of course, still stricken from being abandoned by his mother and father and left to take judgment in their place.

“Page 4, this sentence doesn’t quite make sense. I think you mixed up your tenses, it should probably be ‘can’t’ instead of ‘couldn’t’. Or ‘cannot’? Which do you prefer?”

She brushed past him and grabbed a pen out of her bag, using his back to scribble on the paper. Draco was so shocked he couldn’t move, just felt the tip of the pen—not even a quill, a Muggle ballpoint _pen_ —jut into the space between his shoulder blades.

“I went with ‘cannot’, it sounds like something you would say. The character is meant to be you, right?” Her voice, already soft, went even more quiet, like she was talking to a startled animal. “I really liked it. It was very brave of you to write yourself into that part.”

“It’s not… supposed to be me,” he said, but he didn’t put up much of a fight. She smiled kindly.

“I’m so glad you started writing for us.”

“It was supposed to be anonymous.” A brief moment of panic seized him.

“Don’t worry, we still publish it as anonymous. Something about your stories though… I had a feeling and I ran with it.”

“Why come over here though?” He was still on edge. “Do you want me to… stop writing for you?”

“No!” She reached out for his arm but he pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “But goodness, no, your stories are amazing. Just what The Quibbler needs. I was actually hoping you’d come in and start writing for us in the offices. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, I completely understand, but I think it might be good for you. You kind of dropped off the face of the earth there.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, this thought: _she’s one to talk_. This woman was ethereal, glowing, unreal. Or maybe it had just been too long since he’d had an actual conversation with someone.

“Would my columns still be…?”

“Anonymous, if that’s what you want!” Luna clapped her hands. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I… guess I could stand to get out of the house.” If that’s what you could even call it. The Malfoy Manor had been taken by the Ministry—what was left of it at least, after the pure destruction wrought by the Dark Lord using it as his own. He had used the meager funds left to him after reparations to rent a flat on the outskirts of the city, cozy and quaint but very, very lonely. He barely spoke to his neighbors, and only occasionally received letters from friends who had fled the country.

“That’s great,” Luna shifted. “I hope you’re doing okay. We need to stick together.”

“We?”

“The survivors.”

Draco was still pondering what she meant by that as she breezed past him. Surely she wasn’t grouping him amongst the heroes who had saved the world from those that he had been with, those he was related to.

As he closed the door on Luna, he felt the loneliness return. He hadn’t even realized it was missing in her presence.

* * *

 

Draco started work at The Quibbler the next week. When he entered the small block of offices he was surprised. It was so much more than he had expected.

And yet it wasn’t overbearing at all, or rushed and bustling like you would expect a semi-major media outlet to be. There were fanciful prints of strange beasts floating through the air, several editors and columnists typing away on their projects, and then there was Luna, who popped up in front of him as he entered like she had known he was going to be there at that exact time.

Draco eyed her warily. Maybe she had. He didn’t quite know what she was capable of.

Luna showed him to a quiet corner of the office near a window. Draco watched the dust particles float through the streams of sunlight and made a humming noise in the back of his throat.

“Do you like it?” She asked quietly. He nodded and set down his bag.

“Thank you,” he said, not entirely sure if that was the right thing to say. She hesitated and then reached out, but pulled back at the last moment.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to be alone for so long. I just wanted to make sure you felt wanted someplace—everyone deserves that.”

“Even me?”

She shook her head. “Especially you. You have a heart, Draco, even though you try to hide it. We all made our mistakes during the war. You don’t need to suffer because of them anymore.”

Draco felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He grabbed hold of the back of the wooden desk chair to steady himself.

“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” he said. His mistakes were greater than whatever she was talking about, and he had paid the price by being abandoned by those he had once loved.

“I think everything is simple, we just look for ways to over complicate things.”

With that she turned to leave again, and Draco sat and began to work, contemplating everything she had said to him. As expected of Loony Lovegood, none of it made much sense to him at all.

* * *

 

Weeks went by and Draco came in to the Quibbler offices often, working on short articles and stories here and there, even answering letters he received (most of them anonymous as well, but written in a way that made him suspect they were purebloods like him—and all of them overwhelmingly supportive). It was odd to see so many people reacting to his experiences, however dressed up they were. The war was a connecting piece for everyone in the wizarding World—whichever side you were on, you experienced loss of life, loss of faith, a complete upheaval of everything you had once believed in. Draco wanted to show people they were not alone in their experiences.

And that was when it clicked for him. Maybe that was what Luna had been trying to do for him.

As he packed up his bag for the night, still shaken from the realization that this whole time Luna had been sincere— _of course she had, she wasn’t a Slytherin_ —in trying to build a relationship with him. He frowned and thought back on all she had said to him, about a community of survivors, of veterans.

He still didn’t know exactly how he fit in. All those who sent letters to him, the purebloods who had been on the losing side, had all been merely supporters, locked safely in their mansions with only estranged relatives going out to fight with the Dark Lord. Draco had been in the thick of it, his whole family deeply entangled in Voldemort’s web of generals and soldiers—including Draco himself.

Draco didn’t deserve a place in the spotlight among the heroes. Just that morning Rita Skeeter had run a story on one of the Weasleys—Ginevra, if he remembered correctly, who was rumored to be in the midst of a rocky breakup with the Chosen One. It had taken a long time to get the media off his back, and he was still afraid to go to Diagon Alley or near the Ministry without some sort of glamour. He wasn’t about to go back to that life just by associating with one of Potter’s friends.

Just as he decided that, he turned and saw Luna watching him from the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” He said, forcing himself not to startle.

“Not long. I’m waiting for the Nargle to calm down in my office. I think it’s been taking my pens, I’ll have to find a new charm to keep it away.”

Draco nodded. He had quickly grown used to Luna’s assertions that the office was plagued with Nargles, though he still had no idea what they were supposed to be.

“I was wondering,” she spoke as he moved to leave. “Would you like to join Harry and I for dinner at the cottage?”

There was no hiding it this time, Draco started at Potter’s name.

“Or perhaps something less formal, though I promise it wouldn’t be much. Maybe coffee?”

 _What was this?_ Draco took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “You really think that would be a good idea?”

“I think it would be a great idea. I’ve been telling him about you, he’s eager to meet back up with you. Let bygones be bygones.”

Draco sincerely doubted that. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“I’m perfectly serious,” she said, her eyes haunting in the dim light of the deserted office. “This is a time meant for healing. Recovery means more to Harry than some silly boyhood rivalry.”

 _A boyhood rivalry that almost had a body count_ , Draco thought. He still had silvery scars on his body, still dreamt of the Fiendfyre. He was still haunted by Harry’s eyes, so recognizable, pleading silently with him not to reveal his true identity. To this day, Draco still wasn’t sure why he had stayed silent.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” Even if by some miracle Harry forgave him for what he had done, Draco wasn’t sure if he’d forgiven himself.

“Well, think about it.” Luna smiled. “I think someday I’d like you to meet with everyone else. We’ve all changed so much. We were only children then.”

Children. They were only children then, fighting in a war that had been handed down to them by their parents and old men who thought it was all prophesy. He had been so stupid to think his part in the war had mattered at all, to think he could have ever been a threat to the Chosen One. His family had been destined to fall all along.

And he had known this. What she was saying didn’t make any difference to him. He knew he had changed; years had passed, years spent in darkness waiting for the light.

But the light wasn’t going to come, not for him. He thought he had grown, but in so many ways he was still just a child. A child who had been abandoned by his friends, his family, and long ago, a boy who refused to shake his hand.

No, the light would not come to him. Luna had, but she was not all there was. There was more to this. And he would have to take it for himself.

“I think I could do it,” he said. “But I… I wouldn’t want to talk about it, I don’t think.”

He didn’t want to see Potter again after all this time only to talk about the past. This was what it meant to go through war together; even on opposing sides, they both knew what the other had been through.

“I would like to thank him, though,” he said, his grip tightening on his bag. He hadn’t looked at Luna in a while; he didn’t even know if she was still listening. “For what he did at the trials.”

Not for the Fiendfyre. Not for destroying Voldemort. That had been what the Chosen One was supposed to do. The trials, though, that was all Potter… that was all Harry.

“And,” was he even making sense at this point? He chanced a glance at Luna, who had the same look on her face that she’d had when he opened the door on her more than a month ago. “I’d like to thank you,” he said.

“If you do this, it will be all the thanks I need.” She looked a little tearful, though he must be imagining that. He had never seen Luna’s calm demeanor shaken by anything in the time he’s known her, or even before at school. Though she had never been on his radar, he remembered tales of the pranks played on ‘Loony’ Lovegood. In fact, he’d never even known her real name until it had been printed in the papers alongside Potter’s.

But he definitely owed her so much for seeking him out and bringing him here, and if that meant making amends to Potter, then he would do it.

* * *

 

Draco stood nervously in front of the fireplace in his apartment—magically built and inoperable. It existed solely as a Floo connector. Luna had promised to keep the line open at the cottage she shared with Potter. He still didn’t know what the situation between those two was about; Luna was not a secretive person but she didn’t reveal all that much about her personal life either, or what had gone on between them after the war. He suspected he would find out more tonight.

And god, was he anxious about it. Seeing Potter for the first time since the trials—he adjusted his tie again and took a deep breath, stepping into the Floo and breathing out the name Luna had given him.

A flash of light and a tugging at his stomach—which had already been upset by nerves, oh god—and he was face to face with Luna.

“Welcome,” she said, extending her hand to him. He smiled graciously and accepted it.

“Thank you for having me,” he said, nearly two decades of etiquette lessons brimming to the surface. No sign of Potter yet, he noticed, scanning his eyes across the room. Luna definitely inhabited this space, he thought, noticing the fanciful charms spinning from the ceiling. A light breeze—salty, they must be near the sea—filtered through the open window, and the thin white curtains fluttered like wings.

“Harry’s finishing dinner,” she said, tugging at his hand to direct him to the dining area. He tried to ignore how weird that sentence sounded in his mind, blocking out images of Potter wearing an apron and pulling a casserole out from the oven.

The dining room was just as cozy as the living room he had entered from, and he tried to not feel so out of place in this clearly domestic space. The room was no bigger than the breakfast nook of the Malfoy Manor, which Draco had eaten at as a boy after playing in the yard... though that had stopped quickly as he grew older, when his mother and father felt that spending time too close to where the house elves did their work would be a bad influence.

Potter emerged from the kitchen holding a basket of bread—sort of an underwhelming image, almost too normal. Draco wasn’t sure what he had thought their next meeting was going to be like, but it wasn’t this. He had probably imagined fanfare.

“Malfoy,” he said, and Draco nodded in turn.

“Let’s get dinner started, yeah?” Luna said, clapping her hands together.

* * *

 

Draco sat across from Harry and moved the food around his plate with a fork. Luna was a warm presence beside him, and she leaned carefully towards Harry, telling him stories about Draco in the workplace.

"That’s remarkable," Harry commented on one of Luna’s more fanciful stories (Draco had apparently and inadvertently saved one of her shoes from a Nargle once— in reality he had found the sensible ballet flat in one of his desk drawers and returned it to her, more than a little confused). Draco observed that Potters voice was much deeper now. He didn’t look older, but he looked… better. He had more skin on his bones, a healthy glow to his skin. Draco wondered if he had changed too.

"So," Harry started, trying to meet Draco’s eye. He ducked down, nervous all of a sudden. Harry continued.

"I want to thank you for coming over. When Luna first mentioned she’d befriended you, I was definitely a little surprised, but when she told me about all you’d done for her and the Quibbler..."

"It was nothing," Draco said, because that was the truth. His work at the Quibbler was for his own benefit. Luna and the magazine had given him everything; the least he could do was write a few stories in return.

"I’m sure Luna’s told you my belief about our generation sticking together. Even though we weren’t necessarily on the same side during the war, I know what you and your mother did for me, and I know that what you went through was just as upsetting as what I went through."

Draco scoffed at that, the noise involuntary but certainly warranted. “You died for us, Potter. You came back from death and defeated the Dark Lord so the wizarding world could exist in peace once more. I’d say that experience is a little more than ‘upsetting’, and my experiences in the war certainly don’t go up against that.”

When Draco looked up, Harry’s face was grim. “My experience was unique, definitely. But I don’t think I deserve any more special treatment than anyone else who’s seen what we’ve seen. No one really wins in war, Draco.”

He shuddered at the use of his first name. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.

"So what is it that you want from me, Ha-Potter? To parade me in public so the world can see how forgiving the Chosen One is, associating with Death Eaters?"

"That’s not who you are anymore," Harry said.

"Isn’t it?" Draco rolled up his sleeve and revealed the colorful swirls of ink on his arm. In the center, the Dark Mark still stood out strong. "I bare my scars too, Potter, but mine don’t make people swoon and remember how heroic I was. My mark reminds them exactly what they are capable of, what wizards who seek too much power are capable of. And they hate me for it."

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitched, “I’m sorry it has to be that way,” he said. “I don’t… I stay out of the public’s eye the best I can. I think the last time I was even near the Ministry was for the trials. People have their own idea about who they think I am, and I know there’s no changing it.” He met Draco’s eye once more. “But I’m serious when I say people like us need to stick together. Not for the public’s sake, but for our own. We’re strong when we’re together, all of us, and I think you’ve been alone long enough.”

Draco clenched a hand around his forearm, thumb digging into the skull of the Dark Mark. His breaths evened out in the silence, and he looked at Luna, who was nodding supportively at the two of them.

"You can’t forgive me that easily," Draco said.

"But I already have," Harry said. "There’s only one person I blame for everything, and he’s been gone for a while now."

"Then…” Draco took in them both. He still didn’t fully believe he deserved this, but he wasn’t about to let his apprehension get in the way of a chance at happiness. He took a deep breath.

“I want to try," Draco said, more to Luna than to Harry . "I don’t want to be alone anymore"

* * *

 

He didn’t realize that meant he would have to make amends with the other members of Potter’s pack, especially so soon.

“It’s just Ron and Hermione,” said Luna . “And Ginny and Dean, who you already know from the office, and Seamus if he can make it. A small get-together.”

She reached out and touched his hand. He accepted her warm grasp, even though he was a little upset with her. It had taken him a while, but he had finally gotten used to her tactile nature and even sought it out now. It was all platonic, and it was exactly what he needed after going so long without contact from anyone. It reminded him of his relationship with Pansy, which despite the rumors had been platonic as well. He found support in the touch of another human being, and he knew Luna saw it the same way.

He huffed out a breath. “And they all know about me?”

“They know I’ve been working with you, and that you’re talking with Harry again.”

“And how do they feel about it?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“They’re always so supportive of me and Harry. I know they understand the importance of building a relationship with other survivors.”

How was it that Luna, who he had never said a word to only months before, was able to convince him that he actually belonged somewhere?

“I’ll go then, if it’s that important to you,” he grumbled out, and she gave his hand a squeeze before heading back to her own office. He stared at the column he had been working on and sighed.

What he hadn’t told her was that it felt just as important to him.

* * *

 

Draco Apparated to Luna’s cottage this time, not wanting to show up in the middle of a party through the fireplace. When he knocked (using the charming lion knocker—Harry’s addition, perhaps?) he was surprised when the door swung open to reveal Ron on the other side.

“Hello,” Draco said. Ron blinked at him and stepped aside.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he said. Draco moved past him quickly.

“Harry invited me,” Draco said, which wasn’t necessarily true, but he was sure it would ruffle Weasley’s feathers and that made him feel much better about the situation. He had nothing against the Weasley family, not after his conversations with Ginevra at the office, their playful quarrels about their opposing Quidditch team favorites. Ron though, Ron made Draco nervous—his meteoric rise through the Ministry, working with the people who had taken so much from him—no, Draco didn’t expect a civil conversation with Ron anytime soon.

He breezed past him and found himself in the living room, where he had entered from the Floo the last time. It was still as open and light as he remembered, as everything surrounding Luna was.

“Hello, Draco,” Luna said, smiling brightly as he moved towards the seat next to her. Everyone else was already there—Harry and Luna, Ginevra, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who he knew from work as well. Longbottom and a blonde woman who he vaguely recognized sat together in a smaller loveseat. And then there was Ron of course, who moved past him to take his seat next to Hermione, who was looking particularly frightening. Draco avoided her gaze and took his seat.

“Nice to see you again,” Harry said kindly, and Draco nodded. He actually had seen Harry a few times since the dinner, dropping by the Quibbler offices to see Luna (which made Draco wonder if he had stayed away before then because of him).

Ginevra smiled kindly at him too, and Thomas said a polite hello, although the others stayed quiet for quite some time.

“I’m not late, am I?” Draco said, trying not to betray his nerves.

“Perfectly on time,” Luna said. “Anything to drink?”

“Tea, please,” Draco said, glancing around the room. The quiet chatter started up again when Luna left into the kitchen.

“As I was saying,” Hermione was saying, and Draco forced himself to listen. “The collection can’t be complete until I hear stories from everyone. I think I’m going to have to start travelling outside of England.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Ginevra added. “I’m sure Charlie can put you in touch with some of his contacts. I’ll ask him the next time I see him, whenever that may be.”

Draco registered what she had said. “You’re talking about your series of stories told by magical creatures themselves, right? Told from their point of view?”

Hermione’s head whipped around and she stared at him with wide eyes. “Who told you?”

Draco scoffed. “I work at the Quibbler. I’ve followed your career with the Magical Creature Inclusion Act and the subsequent fallout with S.P.E.W. I think you’re on the right path now, bringing their voices into the mix.”

Hermione—and everyone else in the room—looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and then a third one on top of that. He smiled at Luna as she returned and took the mug from her, something that looked like it had been made by hand.

“Why would you follow my career?” Hermione said, her voice tight.

“Curiosity, mostly. The first article I sent into the Quibbler was about the MCI Act. I guess I was following the Ministry closely at that point to see what they were doing with the war reparations, but…”

Harry cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but what do you mean, ‘reparations’?”

Draco shook his head. “Surely you know. The Ministry made certain pureblood families give them reparations to pay off the damage caused by the war, and to ‘help assure good relations between the wizarding public and those who betrayed them’.” Draco clenched his teeth. His personal opinion was that it was the public who had betrayed him, who had driven his family and friends away from him. He had no real explanation for why he had been drawn to Hermione’s work, or Luna’s magazine, or even building a relationship with Harry and the others. Some part of him must have wanted to reconnect with them after being abandoned by everyone he had ever known.

Ginny breathed out a sigh, interrupting his train of thought. “Reparations. I had no idea they could even do that.”

“They couldn’t do it for everyone,” Draco said, hands clasping the mug tightly. “But the courts deemed that the Malfoys were a ‘special circumstance’. Besides, our home was used as Voldemort’s headquarters for years. They were afraid to let anyone back, afraid of what kind of dark magic might still be there… so I had to leave my childhood home for good.”

It still hurt, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. He looked up and saw the grim faces of Harry and his friends.

“This is what I was talking about,” Finnigan said suddenly, his accent thick. “We don’t even belong to ourselves anymore, we’re like public property!”

“We’re not even that much in the spotlight,” Thomas said. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for people like you and Harry.”

Draco was surprised that this was directed at him. “Oh,” he said. “No, after the trials died down… well, no one really cares about me anymore. People don’t like being reminded of their mistakes, and the Daily Prophet still has quite a large pureblood following.”

“Is that why you went to The Quibbler?” This question came from Longbottom’s blonde girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, who Draco couldn’t remember ever speaking to before now, even though he knew they had shared some classes.

“I… I don’t know why, to be honest,” he said. “I don’t remember much from the months following the war, and the next thing I knew more than a year had passed and I just needed a change. I guess some part of me knew that Luna ran the Quibbler, and that she was connected to you all.” Draco felt his face grow hot under their eyes. “I think I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

He stood suddenly, feeling suffocated. “I’ll be… please excuse me,” he said, placing his mug down and nearly sprinting for the door to the porch.

* * *

 

Draco closed the doors behind him, the barrier between him and them reassuring. The cool sea air nipped at his skin, and as he inhaled deeply he could almost taste the salt.

Stepping forward, he placed his elbows on the porch railing, looked out at the waves crashing against the shore.

Behind him, he heard the door open.

“Hey,” he turned and saw Harry peering out at him on the porch. “You’re welcome here. Just wanted you to know that. We’re… we’re all the same. We need to stick together.”

“All the same?” He was not the same as them. Heroes inhabited the walls of this house. “How can you say that? All your life you’ve been told how special you are, how unique you are. You’re the Chosen One.”

“Stop that,” Harry said, and Draco was surprised how stern he sounded. “You can’t call me that, you know me by now. I don’t think of myself like that and neither should you. And I wish… I wish you’d call me Harry.”

Draco was silent for a moment. “I just don’t understand,” he said finally. “Why me? Why did Luna find me? The whole world collectively decided that I didn’t deserve their attention anymore, and then you found me. Why?”

“We survived,” Harry said, sounding like he’d said this a thousand times before—and maybe he had. “We survived something terrible, and we’re the only ones who truly understand it. The newspapers think they know how we feel, the history books will try to pin down the Battle, but we know what really happened, how we really felt. We’re the only ones who can understand.  You belong here.”

Draco had thought he belonged somewhere before. But that had felt wrong, he knew this now. This feeling—this was different. He clenched the hem of his sweater in a fist and hesitated.

“I… I want to belong.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly, fluttering nervously. He turned and saw Harry smiling, a little crooked, imperfect, in the light from the moon. Inside, laughter bubbled out from the open door.

“Then come in and join the rest of us,” Harry said. “We’ve been waiting.”

 

 


End file.
